


2012

by linnhe



Series: 2012 universe [2]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linnhe/pseuds/linnhe
Summary: in which kibum is homeless and only frank between parentheses
Relationships: Kim Jonghyun/Kim Kibum | Key, Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Jinki | Onew, Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Taemin
Series: 2012 universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134626





	2012

**Author's Note:**

> Still one of my favourite pieces I've written.
> 
> A heads up to my current subscribers: I'll be archiving all my Shinee fics in honour of their long-awaited cb, you might get notified a bunch. Regular NCT programming will return shortly 😌🤲

_2010-2011, new year. winter._

the world is an explosion of light and colour, the air filled with smoky residue and drunk shouting. kibum is hanging out of the side of jonghyun’s car as it snails through traffic, cheering people on with the loudest voice he can muster, only stopping to bring the bottle of soju he’s holding up to his lips. on the next street there’s a bunch of cute girls who beg him for a sip, and he gives them the whole bottle, sliding back into the car.

“i lost the booze,” he says, smiling at jonghyun.

“you mean you gave it away. you do know i can hear you from where i’m sitting.”

“’t was for a good cause,” kibum slurs, dragging his hands through his hair. it’s stiff and weird-feeling, filled with evidence of the hair paint they’d been messing with before they left for the party. the car comes to a halt, a sea of redness in front of them.

“we’re _never_ going to make it to the party on time. does my hair still look good?”

jonghyun looks at him briefly, but not at his hair. “if by good you mean jacked, then yeah.”

“you didn’t even look!” kibum accuses, pushing his head hair-first towards jonghyun. “look at it.”

one of jonghyun’s hands slips into it, the pads of his fingers dragging over kibum’s scalp. it feels nice, the sensation fizzing down to the bottom of his spine. he shivers.

“stop acting out. we’re almost there.”

kibum twists around in his seat, until his head is resting in jonghyun’s lap, so he can look up at him. his boyfriend is staring out at the road ahead intently, even though they’re not moving. then he’s reaching underneath kibum to shift the gear, forcing him to arch his back awkwardly. people’s shouts outside are growing more frantic.

“we should get out,” jonghyun says suddenly. he sounds urgent.

“why?” kibum says, and he’s scared, even though he doesn’t know why.

“it’s almost midnight – look.”

when kibum pulls himself up by the dashboard, he sees. the road is filled with emptying cars, the people belonging to them spilling onto the street as they cheer and hug each other.

“i don’t want to get out. it’s cold.”

“suit yourself,” jonghyun says, opening his door and exiting the car. kibum is at his side in less than a minute, holding his arm and trying to wriggle his way into jonghyun’s jacket. it’s too fitting to allow two people, but kibum feels it’s the thought that counts. “the sky is so grey,” he comments, staring up at it as it lights up oddly from more fireworks being blasted into it, breathing in the biting air. it tastes like soot and fire.

“happy new year,” jonghyun whispers into his ear, and then a warm mouth is covering his.

\--

_2014, january. winter._

the can of paint is cold in kibum’s hand, his fingers protesting when he grabs it tighter. he has to work fast – there’s a lot of eyes around this part of town – but he’d spotted this wall a few weeks ago and it wouldn’t let him go, begging to be marked.

he’s barely set out the line work when something catches his eye, just barely, and he’s overcome with the want to not look, to not see what his brain has already guessed, but he turns his head anyways.

at the back of the tunnel sits a car, or rather its skeleton. he slides the can into his opened backpack, zipping it shut as he walks closer. he could always finish the piece later. after a few metres he slows down, almost coming to a halt. he knows that if he’s not gonna keep going it would be wise to leave – it’s always better to stay on the move – but it’s as if the car is looking at him with its broken eyes. all of the glass is either shattered or gone, but he’d recognize that obnoxious paint job anywhere; he was there when jonghyun got it, he did part of it. the colour is iridescent, catching the light and sending it back to him in several tones, changing as he walks around the carcass. most of the car’s innards are gone – even the shift stick – but there’s still a bit of jonghyun’s flavour left. he bends to look through the driver’s window, careful not to get his jacket caught on the shards sticking out, getting closer to look at the tiny charm hanging from the rear-view mirror. it’s no bigger than his smallest finger, bleached down from always catching the sunlight, beads and other little things kibum had found here and there and had strung all together.

it takes up a good minute to pick it loose (he’d made the knot tight when he attached it). he can still picture himself doing it because he’d been looking at his own face in the mirror, laughing as jonghyun cursed him for blocking the view, shouting ‘almost done, almost done’ from the corner of his mouth, his cigarette dangling in the other corner, its ashes falling on the side of his jacket. it’s not the same jacket he’s wearing now (he lost that jacket when he was crashing with taemin for a while, he’s known to lose things).

as soon as he’s holding the charm in his hand he’s moving, running deeper into the tunnel, and it gets darker only briefly before brightening into day again, the street he walks onto familiar. when he feels he’s created enough distance, he looks down at the bits of wood and plastic and metal in his hand. it’s like they’re humming in his hand. _jonghyun_.

\--

“i heard you’re looking for models?” he’d heard it from a friend of a friend, who occasionally earned a little extra posing for photographers.

the guy is nodding, ushering him inside his apartment. “i’m jinki,” he says, and kibum nods, not really listening as he looks around. it’s a nice enough place, nothing made to match, but he can tell this man has a sense of style. what gives him and by proxy kibum away is how empty it is, void of all the small things you’d find in a real home. no rugs, no picture frames, only things that serve a pragmatic purpose – this place is not a home, it’s a space.

later, when he’s sitting in one of the corners, the concrete cold on his skin, he wishes there had been a rug. he shivers, trying to keep up his erection.

“could you hold it without covering the head? look into the lens? yeah.”

thankfully the guy doesn’t take long, and thankfully he’s only interested in the pictures. kibum is not in the mood to take part of his payment up the ass – he just really wants a container of jjajangmyun tonight, and this is one of the cleanest ways to get it.

“beautiful work,” the man compliments him, sorting through the images on his camera, “you really do have a face for this. do you want to take a look?”

“can i get paid?” kibum interrupts. as nice as this guy seems, he knows it’s better not to linger (inviting trouble to find him).

“of course,” the other nods, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. it’s thick with money, and kibum’s mouth goes dry. when the bills meant for him are pressed into his hand his heart clenches at how thin they feel, but he slides them into his inside pocket anyways. this is what he earned, this is what he should take. he’s already halfway towards the door, hoisting up his backpack, when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“take this too. don’t tell on me, okay?”

there’s more money, and kibum finally really looks at the guy. he has a friendly face. not that that means anything.

“that’s too much.”

jinki smiles at him. “you’re hungry, i can tell. how long have you been on the streets?”

kibum bristles, cursing himself for not just taking the paper. he didn’t need this stranger emoting sympathy, poking his nose where it didn’t belong. he snatches the money out of jinki’s hand, adding it to what’s already in his pocket.

“thanks. see you around.”

when he’s outside he immediately locates a seven eleven, walking into it and buying a packet of cigarettes. he really shouldn’t be wasting money on these, he quit them months ago, but lately everything tastes of them anyways and he might as well chase the memory with some real flavour. the cheap lighter he got with them takes a few turns to light up, but then he’s finally inhaling.

“gross,” he decides, the smoke filtering back out through his teeth.

“can i have one?”

jinki is standing next to him, duffled up in a really big winter coat. he shakes out another cigarette, handing it over to jinki, who has his own lighter – the kind you buy refills for rather than replace.

“fancy lighter,” kibum comments, shaking his fringe out of his eyes.

“thanks. it was a gift.”

they stand and smoke in silence for a while, kibum’s cigarette burning up a lot faster. he doesn’t want to be here.

“you look cold,” jinki comments, looking at his thin jacket, the material irreparably frayed in several places.

“i am,” kibum says simply. _douche_ , he thinks.

jinki takes a final pull of his cigarette and, despite it not being even half gone, throws it on the ground.

“here,” he says, and then the perfect heat of his coat is enveloping kibum. “i have another one upstairs.”

his initial instinct is to shrug it off, but the warmth feels incredible, and a pleasured shudder creeps up his spine. when he grabs a side and slides in an arm, jinki’s scent wafts up to him: a mix of laundry detergent, tobacco and cologne.

“thanks,” he says, zipping it up.

“you’re not gonna give me your jacket?” jinki asks teasingly. he does look freezing in just his shirt.

“no. it’s not mine.”

“then whose is it?”

_jonghyun’s_ , kibum thinks.

“i have to go,” he says instead, leaning over so he can tuck his smokes into jinki’s front pocket. “you can have these.”

“i don’t smoke this brand,” jinki says, looking like he wants to say more.

“you do now,” kibum assures him, patting the packet through the fabric. “see you around.”

“you already said that,” jinki shouts after him as he’s crossing the street. kibum smiles, drawing up his shoulders and taking care not to look back.

\--

_2014, march. spring._

taemin is sitting in a corner of his living room, talking to someone about something, probably drugs, his teeth and laugh equally stark in the din. the space is overflowing with people, all taemin’s friends, or friends of taemin’s friends. he seems to know most of their names, although kibum would guess he has never met them outside of a party.

kibum is sitting in his usual spot, a ratty burgundy-coloured divan where he sleeps on the nights taemin doesn’t want him in his bed, or is too worked up to sleep next to another body. he’s pretty sure he would’ve been overstaying his welcome by now, if his host were ever sober enough to realize the length of kibum’s stay. then taemin is making his way over to him, and kibum smiles, scooting over but not too much, so taemin is forced to squeeze himself in between him and the headrest. he smells sweet, artificial, his pupils unnaturally large.

“we should get some food in you,” kibum suggests, vaguely pointing towards the kitchen, as if it contained anything besides empty cupboards and a fridge full of questionable food. he’d attempted to make dinner with some left-over noodles and a suspicious looking jar of curry two days ago, immediately regretting it when they’d spent the rest of the evening enduring jabbing stomach pains and the occasional bout of dry-heaving over the toilet bowl.

taemin nods just as vaguely, preoccupied with opening the ziploc bag he’s holding. “look what krystal brought us,” he says, excitedly, extracting something brown and disgusting looking from the bag. it looks like a wilted cat turd.

“they’re pretty gross tasting,” taemin smiles, bringing the thing up to his mouth, “but she assured me it’s worth it.”

“taemin, are you sure you want to be doing that,” kibum asks flatly, unable to keep the disgust out of his tone.

“don’t worry, she grows and dries them herself. it’s super safe.”

kibum realizes what they are – shrooms – and takes the bag from taemin, holding it up to the dim light behind him. there’s six more squiggly strands in the bag, and he looks at taemin questioningly, who is currently going through a set of horrified expressions as he chews on the bit he just tore off with his teeth.

“god… why do they have to taste so _awful_.”

kibum shrugs, sliding his fingers into the bag and removing a mushroom. it’s hard and dry to the touch.

“shouldn’t we soak these, or something?”

“not unless you want to be drinking mushroom water,” krystal says, flopping down on kibum’s other side, “can’t let my precious psilocybin go to waste.”

“you’re so clever,” taemin says teasingly, popping the rest of the stem into his mouth.

“whatever. can i have my bag back now?”

kibum gives it back to her, intent on asking about precautions they should be taking, but taemin is being immensely distracting. he’s coughing, contorting his face as much as possible as he continues to chew, and repeatedly mentioning how fucking gross the whole ordeal is. krystal rolls her eyes and leaves them to it, turning to talk to someone on her right.

“why aren’t you eating yours, bummie? it’s _so bad_ , oh my god.”

“yeah, you’re really selling it.”

“shh!” taemin shushes him, voice suddenly quiet and on edge, his eyes darting around the room. “don’t say that word, don’t be giving her any ideas…” kibum doesn’t think he realizes krystal is still sitting next to them. “i had to drag up massively old favours to even get her to give me these. old favours, okay. ooold.”

“alright, alright,” kibum mutters back, even though he’s sure krystal isn’t listening to them, too caught up in what she’s recounting to the person next to her. he puts the piece of fungus in his mouth, moving it to the back with his tongue and crushing it in between his molars. at first he wants to comment that it really isn’t that bad, a little earthy maybe, when his saliva mixes in and the flavour hits him full-on, bitter and foul.

“awful, right?” taemin grins at him, still vigorously chewing his own piece.

“ _yes_.” kibum starts coughing, shuddering when the taste intensifies with each chew. “is this even safe to swallow?”

“yeah, but don’t! you have to chew it so all the thingies are released, the psychostuff.”

he nods, chewing and nudging krystal. she turns around, seemingly annoyed about having to interrupt her conversation. that bothers him.

“how long do we have to chew these for?”

“until they’re mostly gone, or however long you can stand it. the high will last longer if it has to disintegrate in your stomach though, so be careful.”

“what kind of timeline are we looking at?”

“you took one of the smaller ones, right? i don’t know, six to seven hours? it’s different for everyone.”

“alright, thanks. you’re great for sharing these, you know,” kibum says, trying to smooth things out on behalf of taemin. it’s not like she was providing them with anything essential, but he knew she occasionally hung out with one of taemin’s favourite dealers.

“you’re welcome,” she smiles, and the smile is genuine, like all she’d been looking for was a small expression of gratitude. kibum smiles back at her through his chewing, making note of this quality in her.

“all gone,” taemin says right into his ear, falling into his lap. “done yet?”

“almost,” kibum says, realizing he’d almost gotten used to the taste. almost. it probably helped that he downed one third of a bottle of liquor at the store earlier. he wishes he could have taken the bottle with him, but that’s how he’d gotten caught and barred from his favourite convenience store last time, and the one time he’d tried drinking an entire bottle in one go he’d thrown all of it back up within five minutes. he shakes his head at the memory, swallowing down the last bit of his mushroom. taemin has his head nestled in his lap, looking up at him with his mouth wide open.

“am i clean?” he asks, hard to understand because he doesn’t bother to shape his lips around the words. kibum bends closer and inspects taemin’s mouth.

“yep. all gone.”

taemin squirms higher up, his elbows digging into kibum’s thighs as he tries to inspect kibum’s mouth. it’s uncomfortable, but kibum doesn’t have the heart to tell taemin off.

“open up.”

“that’s hardly necessary.”

“it is _vital_ ,” taemin corrects, bringing up one hand to poke at kibum’s cheek. “open up.”

“fine, look,” kibum says, letting his jaw hang slack and lolling out his tongue.

“hmm,” taemin murmurs, unconvinced, grabbing kibum’s tongue with two of his fingers. they taste of tobacco, and something sweet, the same sweetness that always lingers around taemin. if he had to guess at what it was, he’d probably guess mephedrone (or meow meow, as taemin and his friends liked to call it).

he pulls his head back, taemin’s fingers slipping free. “i didn’t know we had anything. is that meow?”

“oh, yeah. it’s on the bar. but krystal said we shouldn’t mix, so i only had a little bit.”

kibum smiles at him. “a little bit is still mixing.”

“pshh, don’t think i can’t smell the alcohol on your breath.”

“i didn’t know i’d be doing these. how long until they kick in?”

“an hour? what do you want to do until then?”

he looks around, spotting several new faces since the last time he did a check of their surroundings. a couple of them are sitting near krystal, passing around her ziplock bag and encouraging each other to eat their piece. he realizes the music has been turned up, because he can’t hear them despite sitting barely a metre away.

taemin decides for them, getting up and pulling kibum with him. his body moves to the beat in that easy, effortless way that is so typical of him (like he’s creating the music with his movements rather than the other way around). kibum moves with less intent and precision, focused on observing.

“dance!” taemin shouts, bringing his hands up over his head and showing off all his teeth, his eyes alight with pleasure. kibum follows his directions, occasionally bringing their hips together and falling in synch with taemin, but mostly adhering to his own rhythm. others join and leave again, but not before clutching onto taemin at some point, saying things into his ear that make him laugh, every time. taemin always laughs like that when he’s high, as if everything being said to him is equally hilarious and brilliant. kibum realizes he’s high too, the room becoming too much, too hot, too alive, and he feels like he’s being grinded into chyme in between all the bodies, even though nobody is dancing close enough to even touch him.

“i have to get some air,” he mouths at taemin, gesturing towards the front door. he pushes through the people blocking his way, trying to keep a straight face when sweaty arms and legs and hands slide against him, surprised at how wet his own skin feels when he brings his hand up to push back his fringe. when he walks through the door he shivers at the coolness of the hallway air, an indication of how hot the living room must have been.

“right behind you,” taemin whispers into his ear, his body warm and sticky as it briefly presses into kibum’s back. he closes the door behind them, blocking out the music. “can’t be waking up the neighbours.”

kibum feels strangely satisfied that taemin is at his side, that he picks him over all the people in his apartment. he doesn’t know why that feels good, except that everything feels good right now.

“i think they’ve kicked in,” taemin whispers, his eyes glinting in the sombre light of the hallway. kibum nods, and then laughs because nodding feels weird. taemin looks surprised.

“i don’t think i’ve ever heard you laugh out loud,” he says, and he reaches out a hand, fitting it against kibum’s jawline. “i mean, like you meant it.”

“maybe we should head back inside,” he suggests, not wanting to expand on that subject. taemin is soft and willing, all mouth when kibum pushes him through the doorway and into the wall. he places his feet on kibum’s feet and instructs him to walk the both of them to taemin’s bedroom, all the way at the end of the hallway. kibum complies, even though it’s difficult to navigate, especially since taemin won’t stop kissing him, but he gets them there.

taemin lets go to nestle in his bed, lifting his shirt and letting his hand trace the length of his stomach. when kibum slides in next to him he sighs, the way cats sigh when they’ve finally gotten comfortable: light, content, and with an underlying promise of easy upset. the shrooms are really kicking in now, and the room is spinning at a slow pace. he knows he should stay awake for this high, because if he misses out on it now he won’t be able to experience it with the same intensity for another couple of months (mushrooms are a blessed and cursed drug in that way).

“taemin, we shouldn’t stay in bed. we’ll fall asleep.”

“i’m not sleepy,” taemin murmurs, his legs rubbing up and down kibum’s, hands playing with the hem of his shirt. “i’m very awake.”

when taemin latches onto his throat and suckles the skin there he lets it happen, threading his fingers through the boy’s bleached hair. it feels coarse, like he hasn’t washed it in a while. taemin keeps kissing his skin, moving lower, exploring other parts of him. kibum is happy the other doesn’t know his weak spots, because he’s not really in the mood to let this go anywhere.

as if he’s jinxed it, a bony hand find its way underneath his shoulder, tracing his shoulder blade and resting at the base of his neck. _so close, too close._

__“lie on your stomach,” taemin sighs into his collar bone, licking alongside it as if to underline his words. kibum complies, and the world whirls along as he turns. he giggles into the pillow, grabbing it so he can squeeze something.

then taemin is there, nuzzling the base of his hairline, his chin pressing into the top of his spinal cord.

“who told you?” kibum asks, because there’s too much determination for it to still pass as luck. taemin knows.

“does it matter?” taemin asks, and in a way it does because kibum wants to know who it was that went around kissing and telling, but then taemin bites down on him and there are no longer any edges between him and the world, his skin going fuzzy as he melts under taemin’s touch. he’s sucking on one of his ears, toying with the piercings there, his fingers taking over for his teeth. they press, right at the base of his skull, and kibum thinks he might die with how good it feels.

he moans taemin’s name, or maybe he’s just moaning, and taemin laughs into his ear, all breath and knowing.

“feels good?”

“ _yes_ ,” he sighs, riding out the tingling sensations.

when the feeling dies down, his nerves overstimulated, he rolls back and pulls the other on top of him. he imagines them looking much the same, awful dye jobs and dirty clothes, except taemin has completed the look with day-old eyeliner, the last traces clinging to the edges of his eyes.

“you need to touch up your eyeliner. i think i can see skin,” he teases.

“i ran out last week... the stuff i’m wearing now isn’t mine, a girl in a club let me use hers while her friend was taking a piss.”

“that sounds like a good way to get pink eye.” kibum knows that’s not a funny concept, but he can’t hold back a giggle. all words sound stupid, especially the ones in his mind, which are accumulating because he’s having trouble stringing thoughts and sentences together.

“so funny, strange… strunny,” he tries, giggling again at his slurred speech. taemin picks up on his mood, raising one of his eyebrows and pulling his eye open with a finger. “at least it wasn’t _pink_ eyeliner.”

that makes kibum laugh harder, too hard, and he pushes taemin off of him because it feels like he might choke. he coughs in pain when one of taemin’s elbows comes into contact with his ribs, but it doesn’t deter the laughing fit.

“i’m making a pink eyeliner and marketing it as pink eye. confuse the masses,” taemin adds when he sees kibum’s catching his breath.

“be quiet,” kibum wheezes, pushing the other until he’s flattened against the wall that’s lining one side of the bed. “be quiet, you’re going to kill me.”

taemin’s squealing and wriggling, trying to free himself. “stop! stop, the wall is so fucking cold!”

“how are you not stoned out of your mind right now,” kibum demands, but as he makes his lips form the words he figures it out. “krystal has been hanging out for a few days, hasn’t she.”

“yeah,” taemin admits, still trying to turn around, “we already did these a couple days back, it’s not doing much for me now.”

“so cunnninng,” he says, and the word comes out stretchy.

“hold on, i’m grabbing my laptop.” kibum doesn’t even try to protest as taemin gets up and climbs over him, instead lying on his back and rubbing his stomach the way he saw him do earlier. it feels odd, like the skin on his hands and the skin on his stomach are unfamiliar with each other. then music he no longer realized was playing in the background gets cut off, and people groan in the living room.

“just use my speakers, don’t tell me none of you whores brought your phones,” taemin shouts, the words barely finished bouncing down the hallway before he’s back in bed with him, resting his pc on his knees.

“i have the sickest song for you… krystal let me listen to this on my first trip, you are not going to believe your ears.”

kibum wants to say something like, _everything sounds amazing when you’re tripping_ , but he’s fast losing grip on his vocabulary. he smiles up at taemin instead.

the music starts and predictably it’s some shitty dubstep track that kibum has already heard a million times, but before he can complain the beat speeds up and a dark laugh spreads through the track.

“remix,” he murmurs, and taemin is nodding, tapping away at his keyboard.

“yeah, i can’t stand the original anymore. don’t you hate when a song is so good that you listen to it enough to ruin it forever?”

honestly, kibum hates it more when people endlessly repeat platitudes without ever thinking them through, but he’s in too good of a mood to get into that. “sure,” he slurs, making grabby hands at taemin.

“hold on, i’m setting up a playlist.”

kibum lies back again, staring up at the ceiling. there isn’t an overhead light, the bare wires hanging by themselves. a second layer of music starts up in the distance, mixing in with the chatter coming from the living room. he feels like he’s six years old at most, nothing but the most basic concepts comprehensible to him, everything feeling equally magical.

he remembers when he would remember everything, every word spoken to him and every word he spoke. he was young then, and there was very little in the world that wasn’t new to him, and all that he discovered seemed to have its own innate value. as he grew older he learned to recognize that the concept of value was something people decided on, not real, and when he a grew a little older still he could no longer perceive it at all. from then on he only found beauty where there was none to be found, in plastic things and ill-lit spaces, in stained eyes and lips and empty hearts.

“stained eyes and lips,” he murmurs, and then taemin is on top of him, kissing him again.

“i missed you,” he says, and kibum smiles.

“you always miss everyone.”

“that’s because you’re all such a fleeting bunch.”

“that’s because you only have one kind of friends.”

“don’t blame me, they’re the best kind.”

they spend a long time talking, weaving words in circles about subjects that have gained in importance because of the drugs, and then taemin lets him fuck him. it’s exhilaratingly different, every sensation interpreted and translated by his brain in a way he hasn’t experienced before, and taemin is perfect underneath him.

\--

when he wakes up the next morning the first thing he sees is taemin, his eyeliner smudged so thin it’s barely noticeable anymore, his hands pale and curled in sleep in between their faces. kibum’s head is resting directly on the mattress, and he discovers his pillow tucked between taemin’s legs. a faint ray of sunlight is coming in through the sole window in the room, where it sits tucked away in the far corner, filtered green by the drapes, granting the atmosphere an underwater vibe. the only thing missing to complete the cosiness of waking up like this is warmth, taemin providing barely any and the sun proving treacherously cold in its winter cycle. and yet kibum still finds himself yearning to be part of this perfect little bubble; to find a baseline of stability and peace in this life. but outside of being a physical presence he really has no part in taemin’s life. there’s no warmth.

when he rolls around he almost knocks taemin’s laptop to the ground, exhaling in relief when he manages to grab and save the thing. he puts it on the nightstand, accidentally pressing a button in the process and causing the machine to start up and produce a happy little sound that feels loud enough to wake the entire house in the stillness of the morning. he holds his breath. taemin moans something, but doesn’t wake up, and kibum gets up, quietly and efficiently gathering his clothes.

he dresses in the hallway. he’d been planning to fit in a shower before he left, but his mouth tastes ashen and he doesn’t know if he can stand the chilliness of the bathroom right now (and maybe he shouldn’t be using up taemin’s hot water anyways). his backpack is still sitting where he left it, in the corner of the living room, and he checks it quickly to make sure nothing is missing. he’s nearly out the door when he bumps into krystal, coming out of the kitchen with a slice of processed cheese in her hand. he’s about to comment when she stops him with a raised hand.

“don’t worry, i brought this in myself. i refuse to become another victim of taemin’s fridge experiment.”

“good. i’d hate to see you sick.”

“really?” she asks, walking back into the kitchen. “i never really had you pegged as the caring type.” the way she says it is pointed. he leans against the doorway, watching her open the fridge.

“ha.”

“want a slice?”

his stomach growls at the sight of the cheese, and she laughs. “two, then.”

the cheese is rich and filling, in a way that makes him feel like he’d completely forgotten how good food can taste. he only barely keeps back a groan as he bites into it, the taste bursting forth in every corner of his mouth. he wants to savour it but pretty much wolfs his portion down. krystal is leaning against the counter and staring at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“d’you want the rest of it too?”

“sure,” kibum responds, casually, like he doesn’t pick up on her slightly mocking tone. she hands him the whole packet, still smirking. he removes a slice and rips the plastic to the side to take a bite, the feeling of his teeth sinking through another layer utterly satisfying.

halfway through the packet he can feel nausea setting in, so he folds the packaging back into place and pockets it. krystal is still watching him intently, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“thanks for the food.”

“no problem,” she says, and it sounds genuine. whatever her issue with him, it’s not related to him snaffling her breakfast. either way, he’s not that interested in hearing her reasons.

“see you around, krys.”

“hm-mm. bye.”

the outside air is definitely unfriendly, biting through his jacket with ease. it’s not the jacket jinki gave him, and even though he’d gotten at least two weeks’ worth of food out of that thing he still kind of regrets not having it anymore, because he can feel his nipples turning blue. he’s beginning to think he should have traded jonghyun’s jacket instead, but once again, sentimentality got to him.

“fuck.”

he starts walking, picking a street he knows will lead to narrower streets, hoping those will shield him from the wind a little more. the clock on a parking ticket machine tells him it’s nearly noon, but he still has a lot of day left to waste, so he keeps walking until he finds a bench to sit down on while doing his daily inventory. he thoroughly checks his backpack for cash, even though he knows he won’t find anything (but it doesn’t hurt to check). he remembers a time when he didn’t want for money and used to find the stuff everywhere: spare change in the dryer, crumpled bills in old coats and wallets. it seems unreal now.

he goes over his belongings, putting them on the bench next to him one by one. six cans of paint, a set of keys (to taemin’s apartment), an inconspicuous table knife, a bar of soap wrapped tightly in some cellophane, a spare outfit and a lighter are the most prominent objects. he’s in the mood for tidying up thoroughly today, reaching for the bottom of his bag and scraping the hardened fabric, his fingertips brushing against the knick-knacks rolling around down there. usually most of it was small, useless crap he carried around for no good reason, stuff he’d found and had forgotten to look at again later. when he pulls his hand free he’s holding a gum wrapper, a flaking bobby pin and a small assortment of beads; almost uniform in colour because of exposure to the sun. when he realizes where the beads are from his stomach jolts, and he nearly drops them. he doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been since he’d found the car – it was colder then, so a while ago – and despite his intentions he hadn’t gone back to look at it again.

there was his thing to do for the day.

\--

when he returns to the tunnel the car is gone, a fading oil spill the sole evidence of it ever having been there. he ignores the tug in his chest and sets to finishing up the work he’d left uncompleted last time. a rookie had sprayed several of his uninspired tags over the linework, but he’d used a pale blue (a colour choice reeking of a leftover bottle found in an older sibling’s room) and it was easy for kibum to redefine his piece.

he’s fully focused while he works, unconsciously listening for unwanted attention as he adds layer after layer to his art. at some point a small group of teenagers gather at the start of the tunnel, but they’re laughing and joking amongst themselves and pay kibum little attention. he keeps fixing the same section, not really because he’s that displeased with the result, but because he’s trying to waste time. he doesn’t want to go back to taemin’s place until he’s sure krystal has left… or rather, he doesn’t want to go back at all. taemin is fun and sweet, and a good friend, but sometimes kibum catches him looking at him in a way he doesn’t want to be looked at. it makes him feel heavy.

by the time he’s done, or rather, by the time his paint starts running out (shouldn’t have been so wasteful) he steps back and takes in his work for a while. it’s a colourful piece, depicting the fragmented face of a man in pain. the teenagers walk up to join him, and provide loud, enthused commentary. two of them give kibum the advice not to quit his day job, but the lankiest kid in the group appears very much taken by the piece.

“what’s wrong with him?” he asks, staring at the wall.

kibum shrugs. “nothing. it’s just how he feels.”

“is he you?”

kibum shakes his head. the person in the graffiti is in agony. he’s fine. “nah.”

“oh. anyways, it’s cool! i’ll make sure kwanghyun doesn’t put his tags over it again.”

his friend shoves him, grinning. “like you can tell kwanghyunnie to do anything.”

the lanky kid opens his mouth to defend himself. kibum interrupts them, storing away the cans of paint that still have something left in them. “it doesn’t matter. your friend can tag this if he wants to.”

this is greeted with general sounds of approval, and the boys in the group pat him on the back, now uniformly praising his style.

“we’re sorry we said you shouldn’t quit your job before. your stuff is very unique.”

he waves at them as he leaves.

\--

the club is stifling hot, and kibum is glad he took a mix of things before coming, because he doesn’t think he’d been able to stand the thrum of bodies pressing into him if he hadn’t. taemin left to do something ten minutes ago – he couldn’t quite make out what over the harangue of the speakers – leaving kibum to his own devices on the dance floor.

continuously being forced into giving people his best _fuck you_ -stare to be able to dance in peace is making him regret coming out at all. hands are placed on his hips and kibum jerks out of their hold before continuing to dance, frowning in irritation.

“wow, sorry,” the offender shouts into his ear. kibum’s irritation increases, turning away while rubbing his ear; despite the deafening volume in the club, the stranger had still managed to hurt him. he starts pushing through the crowd to get away, bent on being left alone, but is stopped by taemin, all smiles and shellacked hair. he covers one of kibum’s ears with a chilly hand, allowing him to speak at a normal volume into the other one.

“hey, where are you headed? i got us the meow.”

kibum copies his action, cradling the side of taemin’s face as he speaks. “i’m already hopped up, i don’t nee–”

the other pulls away before he can finish his sentence, and when kibum looks at him taemin is staring at something over his shoulder.

_who is your friend?_ he mouths, his face expressing apprehension. not everyone that recognizes kibum constitutes a friend.

he turns around, his feelings of annoyance increasing tenfold when he recognizes jinki. jinki smiles and waves at him, leaning in and saying directly into kibum’s ear, at a softer volume this time: “fancy seeing you here.”

kibum rolls his eyes and moves away from him, taking a hold of taemin, the side of his cheek getting slightly wet with taemin’s perspiration when he presses his lips against his temple. it doesn’t feel strange or out of place in the heavy, oxygen-deprived humidity of the club.

“i have to pee, i’ll be right back.”

taemin nods and closes his eyes, eager to go back to letting himself be absorbed by the thrumming bass of the music, his body instinctively catching every beat. he’s glistening, and kibum spends another second taking in taemin’s ecstatic expression before pushing through the crowd. during moments like these, loving taemin doesn’t seem difficult at all. an unwelcome image of krystal creeps into his mind, one of her leaning against a kitchen counter, looking at him with a knowing, somewhat irritated smirk.

by the time he’s walking into the bathroom he’s had full-bodied contact with at least two dozen people – he can’t figure out why the club is so packed tonight. the bathroom is just as ill-lit as everything else, but not as noisy, and he locks himself into a stall, taking several deep breaths and rubbing his face. his skin feels odd, like it’s been wadded. his touches feel dull.

someone starts knocking on his stall door, and kibum yells at them to go away. a woman nearby is screaming in anger, but he can’t understand what she’s saying. there’s two people laughing and whispering in the stall next to his, their sounds muffled and yet grating. it feels as if the whole club is trying to get inside his head.

“coat-guy?”

kibum feels a little like shrieking. he needs everyone to stop, because it’s too much, too much, _be quiet_ –

“i’m sorry if i bothered you, earlier… i wasn’t really thinking, i mean, i didn’t realize you wouldn’t like it if i said hi, i figured it would be rude if i didn’t. to tell you the truth, i might have had a little too much to drink, i’m usually not this… ha, i’m babbling. but yeah, i just wanted to say sorry.”

kibum can’t find a reply, the words sticking in his throat. he sits down on the toilet seat, reaching out to unlock the door. he hadn’t realized how hard the cocktail of drugs he’d ingested was hitting him, until now, and a part of him is afraid he’s going to die right here in this stall, surrounded by plastic walls covered in scribbles promising either hot one night stands or reciting tepid poetry. but the air is a little easier to breathe closer to the floor and he calms down enough to collect his thoughts.

jinki joins him in the stall, and kibum can’t find it in himself to look up yet, his gaze fixed on jinki’s shoes. they’re nice, leather shoes, a little scuffed but stylish.

“are you ill?” there’s real concern in his voice, and it rubs kibum the wrong way. he shakes his head curtly, focusing on his breathing.

“hang on, i’ll get you some water.”

more than the promise of water, jinki leaving helps. kibum breathes in and out, slowly regaining connection to his surroundings. when jinki returns with a plastic cup of water he musters a smile. jinki responds in kind, his smile wider and a lot more tooth-y.

“thanks.”

“you’re welcome. hey, i didn’t catch your name before.”

kibum knows; the omittance was purposeful. but he also remembers the coat. “it’s kibum.”

“suits you.” jinki seems to be following the line of his brow with his gaze. “do you think you’ll be okay heading back out? you look a little pale.”

he stands, the distance between them narrow in the cramped stall. “i’ll be fine. do you want a sip of this?”

when jinki refuses he pours the cup over himself, aware the cooling effect of the water will be short-lived once he’s back on the dance floor, but welcoming the relief it brings him now.

they find taemin grinding against a guy wearing a sleazy expression, and kibum expertly peels the stranger off, the set of his jaw expressing how he feels about the situation. the stranger takes the hint and tries jinki instead. kibum forgets to keep watching the pair, much too absorbed by taemin’s damp form pressing into him, by taemin’s tongue tracing the water drops still clinging to his skin.

“you’re wet,” taemin says, like it makes him happy, and his voice feels like it’s coming from inside of kibum’s mind. his chilly hand comes up to touch his chest, and kibum takes a hold of it, keeping it there and warming it up while they dance. dancing with taemin is fun because it’s incessantly easy; he seems to meet all of kibum’s movements even before kibum has fully articulated them. there’s no effort or thought required.

another body presses up against his back and he freezes up briefly, which is magnified in taemin’s dancing. but then he recognizes the timbre of jinki’s voice asking them for a dance and he relaxes, taemin picking up on the voiceless permission in that same instant and turning malleable again. kibum dazedly wonders if meow gives taemin mindreading powers, and then smiles over the stupidity of the idea, the lack of focus in his thoughts reflected back to him in taemin’s expression. he pushes his hips closer and presses his mouth against taemin’s, kissing him while cajoling him into giving himself over completely. jinki isn’t so much dancing as holding them, his hands on kibum’s and taemin’s hips alternatively, his breathing a puffy sensation against kibum’s nape. on most days kibum would have considered it too suffocating to be held like this, caged between two bodies, but the air is nearly the same temperature as their skin and he finds it no longer matters.

hours later, when their legs have begun giving out, they say their goodbyes and he walks taemin home. the morning air feels freezing against his skin. the soreness of their feet is amplified with every step.

\--

he wakes up on the far end of taemin’s couch (it’s always been amusing to him how huge taemin’s couch is, L-shaped and filling up over half of his living room, big enough to seat a dozen people), eyes stinging when he opens them to the soft afternoon light falling in through the windows. there’s high-rises all around them, but lying this close to the window and looking straight up he still manages an unlimited view of the sky. eventually he gets dizzy and sits up, holding back a slimy cough. taemin is asleep on the divan segment of the couch, all the way on the other side of the room, his naked legs sticking out over the edge. his head is tilted back and kibum studies the edge of his jaw, specifically its small collection of bruises. he can remember taemin being kissed there, but he can’t remember if he’d done it or watched it being done.

taemin wakes up a couple of minutes after him, sitting up with a start, his hair sticking up. it’s bothersome how attractive taemin is to him, even when he’s all used up like this. there’s a partially smoked cigarette stuck to the younger’s skin, where his t-shirt has ridden up, and kibum suspects they’ll end up burning down the entire building one day.

the first thing they do is roll more cigarettes, after collecting all the required elements from their scattered locations in the room.

“why is your tobacco underneath the divan?”

taemin waves at him dismissively, squinting and pale. “shh. it’s too early to talk.” his voice is hoarse.

he smokes sitting in kibum’s lap, becoming a little more awake with each fresh drag of nicotine, his spindly legs dragging over kibum’s thighs. he gets up when they’re on their second smoke, taking the stick with him, forcing kibum to follow.

he’s leaning against the counter when kibum walks into the kitchen, the formica edge digging into his stomach. the cigarette is dangling from his mouth, slow strands of smoke curling into his vision and making him squint as he stuffs coffee grinds into a paper filter. kibum watches him, eventually reaching over to relieve taemin of his cigarette, and reduce the chance of ashes in their coffee.

taemin sets up the coffee machine before leaning into kibum, using a cute voice to beg for the last drag. “give, bummie. i need nicotine.”

“you always need something,” kibum teases, but he still tucks the filter between taemin’s lips.

taemin pinches the filter between his thumb and forefinger and nods as he inhales, a slight crease etched between his eyebrows when he blows the smoke in the direction of the ceiling. “i live on somethings.”

“hmm-m. are you hungry?” they’re falling into one of their routine conversations. kibum has come to enjoy their predictability.

“i didn’t shop for groceries yet… i was gonna go to the store later, after doing a show maybe. are you coming along?”

kibum is watching the machine, listening to its little sounds and inhaling deeply when it starts producing a coffee aroma.

“don’t know yet… maybe.”

“you can hang out on the couch; i know you don’t like watching.”

kibum shrugs. “i don’t mind it. i just feel a little superfluous during.”

taemin grins, slipping into his show persona without a single ripple. his hand slides over kibum’s crotch, gripping his dick through the fabric of his jeans. “would you like to be included?”

his tone, his movements, all of it is sexy; but kibum dislikes it all the same. it’s a performance, and makes him feel like an element in a play.

“would your audience like that?”

“maybe. i’ve never cammed with someone else before.”

the machine clicks and whirrs and its little red light turns off, signifying the coffee is ready. kibum stares at it.

“you don’t have to show your face, i’ll just suck your pretty cock,” taemin wheedles. this tone of voice reminds kibum of his pliancy last night, when he followed kibum’s prompts without the slightest show of hesitance.

kibum never explicitly agrees, but taemin is just as forthcoming with his sweet words when they’re taking a shower together, and when he lies back on taemin’s mattress and closes his eyes, it’s not that hard to forget there’s other people watching. the only thing that serves as a reminder is taemin occasionally pulling away to check the screen, accompanied by soft tapping sounds when he types a reply.

taemin tells him to do this and that depending on what he reads, and it really does start to feel like a performance. he pulls taemin’s hair and forces him down, and does other things that don’t turn him on, but it’s interesting in a way. afterwards when they’re in the supermarket, comparing prices on fruit, he can still see the slight redness around taemin’s eyes from when he made him choke and cry, and it feels surreal.

\--

_2011, march. spring._

“you’ll always love me. right?”

it’s a question jonghyun had asked before, in various settings, but the way he asks it now makes kibum uncomfortable. his tone is not light-hearted, nor playfully threatening, or even vulnerable (these are the tones kibum is familiar with and knows how to deal with). instead jonghyun sounds like he’s finishing up a chapter in a book, and it causes him to feel on edge, and he replies glibly to relieve the tension in his chest.

“of course not.”

jonghyun laughs, the way he always does, expressing his recognition and acceptance of kibum’s glibness through that short sound. but what would have made the exchange okay is missing from his voice; there’s no layer of humour, he’s not trying to indulge him. the stance of his mouth betrays impatience. kibum doesn’t know why it makes him feel so rattled.

“just checking.”

they finish their meal without broaching the subject again, and when jonghyun makes love to him that night kibum ignores the emptiness between them.

\--

_2014, april. spring._

he hasn’t seen taemin in weeks, and most of that time has been spent doing his best not to think of this fact at all. sometimes, when he’s caught off-guard, he’ll think about why he doesn’t want to think about it. but if he knows the answer, he can’t find it.

besides, this is a good time of year to have a falling out, because the worst cold has worn off and sleeping outside is not so bad. he still manages to spend most nights inside, by hiring game or karaoke rooms, paying for the cost with what he scrapes together during the daytime. he doesn’t like begging, but it has become a means of survival. a long time ago, when he still had everything going for him, he thought it must be really hard to beg. humiliating. but now that it’s his main occupation, it has simply become the thing to do (this is an aspect of the human condition that tends to fascinate him the most: how even the worst circumstances can even out into normalcy. or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t have enough pride left to feel humiliation).

begging for money is strangely exhausting, and he spends a lot of time yawning and rubbing his hands, stepping from foot to foot to keep himself warm and aware of his surroundings.

which is why he doesn’t understand how he didn’t see him coming.

“want a smoke?” jinki’s voice calls up memories of dancing for hours, of feeling drunk and alive.

he musters a polite little wave, and jinki looks surprised. it makes him feel bad about himself.

“no, thanks. i’m just waiting for a friend.” he accompanies the lie with a vague gesture towards the street.

jinki smiles, and the way he smiles tells kibum he’s not buying it. maybe cleaning yourself in public bathrooms could only maintain a look of laissez-faire chic for a limited amount of time, or maybe it’s because he slept on a bench last night, but he’s not buying it, and kibum feels naked.

“i have an assignment that i keep fucking up, my regular models don’t seem to get what i want... i think you might be the one for the job.”

“don’t you think it’s lazy to blame your models?” why does he become mean when he’s frightened? jinki is being nice to him, is promising him a few hours inside, and money maybe. the thought of missing out makes the cold, which he’d considered minimal up until then, unbearable.

jinki laughs at his sharpness, the way jonghyun used to, only kibum can tell he hurt his feelings. maybe he’d voiced the exact thing jinki had been afraid of. it causes him to blurt out words that usually don’t come easy to him. “i’m– i’m sorry. i’m sorry for saying that.”

“it’s okay,” jinki shrugs, looking away with a forced smile on his face. “maybe you’re on to something? i should just stick to porn assignments. those pay the bills, at least.”

kibum shifts to his other foot. he can’t feel his toes. “i’ll do it. you can take your time.”

“what about your friend?” it’s clear he’s just trying to be polite by going along in the lie, and it’s making kibum feel more awkward by the second, but he doesn’t know how to kill the farce without causing them both more discomfort.

“it’s fine, i’ll text them something came up.” with his non-exististent phone. he turns red.

“oh. alright.” jinki waits for a couple of seconds before making an abrupt little gesture, staring at kibum’s empty hands. “do you want to… uh… borrow my cell phone?”

“okay,” he says in a thin voice. his palms are sweaty by the time he accepts the device, wishing this moment would be over already. he finally realizes he will have to send a real text, but he only knows one number by heart.

_hey taem, something came up & i wont be at our meeting spot. talk to you later x bummie_

__he returns the cell phone, muttering a polite thank you. jinki briefly checks the screen, and kibum can tell he has him wondering if the lie was actually true all along.

“is it okay if we walk to my apartment? it’s a twenty minute walk.”

“sure. let’s go.”

\--

jinki’s place is nothing like the last time, if only because he has an electrical heater now. there’s also evidence of someone actually living in the apartment this time around, dirty plates sitting on one of the coffee tables.

“this was a gift from a regular model,” jinki had explained, sounding almost sorry, as he dragged the heater towards the spot in the room where he wanted kibum. “she gave it to me saying she finally couldn’t take the cold anymore… i wish she’d just told me? i would have bought one.”

kibum doesn’t care where the thing came from, all he cares about is the fact that it’s currently blowing warm air on him. the first few minutes had been kind of painful, as his numb fingers and toes pricked back to life, but right now he’s in toasty heaven.

“look over your shoulder… down… yeah, like that.”

he almost wishes this was a naked assignment, so more of his skin would be exposed and he could suck up the warmth more efficiently.

“this is going to sound kinda weird, but could you maybe look a little less, um, happy?”

kibum almost laughs at that (all his life he’s been told he should smile more).

“i’ll try.”

in the end, the whole shoot only takes about an hour, and he doesn’t know how well he hides his disappointment when he has to move away from the heater to join jinki on his couch.

“listen, i can’t properly pay you for this assignment, because my school isn’t paying me anything either. but you could stay for dinner, if you’d like? i was going to order in.”

the offer comes across as genuine, and kind, and kibum’s defences are lowering. “that sounds really nice… thank you.” an expression he hadn’t seen before flits across jinki’s face, one of satisfaction. all this over a single favour.

“oh, by the way, your friend replied.” he holds out his cell to kibum, frowning, clearly feeling bad about thinking kibum a liar before.

kibum also feels bad, but moreso about having ignored taemin all this time.

_bum is that u come over i miss u i need u_

__“do you have to go?” jinki asks, like he won’t mind if that’s how their evening turns out.

“no,” kibum replies slowly, hesitantly, “i mean, yeah, but i can still stay for dinner. i mean, if you really want me to?”

it becomes obvious jinki was just putting up a front of disinterest before, because his smile turns wider when kibum repeats his willingness to stay. he’s very charming when he smiles like that, and it causes a spark of discomfort in kibum’s gut. he doesn’t want to become close with this guy. he doesn’t want this. why is he doing this?

“actually, i think i should go after all,” he says hurriedly, standing up.

jinki reaches out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back down. “kibum. stay. it’s okay.”

“please let go of me.” he can hear his own voice, hear the underlying panic, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach (this is why he should have kept his distance, because now jinki wants something from him, something he can’t deliver on. he can do fucking, but he can’t respond to the hope in jinki’s eyes).

“kibum, i–”

“let go!”

he pulls free and all but bolts from the apartment, and it’s only once he’s outside that he realizes he’s left jonghyun’s coat behind, but he can’t bring himself to go back, his heart hammering in his throat. he still has his backpack, and it’s almost summer. he’ll make it work, he’ll be alright.

\--

_2011, april. spring._

jonghyun and him splitting up ends up being a very subdued event, so unlike most of their time together. when jonghyun sits him down and talks about how he just hasn’t been feeling that spark lately, and other assorted bullshit like it didn’t have to be a permanent break-up, kibum can feel himself crumbling. _you’re the love of my life_ , is what he wants to say. _i can’t do this without you._ but he puts on a brave act, because he doesn’t want to fall apart in front of someone who doesn’t love him back.

and when jonghyun pushes him down onto their bed (not their bed, _jonghyun’s_ bed, _jonghyun’s_ apartment) and whispers sweet things into his ear, about one last time for old time’s sake, kibum allows it. for weeks after, he allows jonghyun to touch him and find his release with him, and ignores the ever-mounting devastation in his chest in favour of how good he feels in those brief moments.

\--

_2014, april. spring._

when he reaches taemin’s apartment, he finds him lying on one of the living room couches, pallid and too thin. taemin starts crying when he sees him and kibum’s heart clenches. he pulls taemin close, finding another crushed cigarette underneath his shoulder, only part-way smoked. he must have fallen asleep smoking again.

_‘where were you?’_ is the only thing he can make out in taemin’s messy, wailing pleas, which don’t stop until kibum is lowering him into a tub filled with hot water. taemin shouldn’t be appealing to him like this, with snot and tears running down his face, and yet here they are. it leads kibum to question himself, and his qualities as a friend.

“i had some things to do. i’m here now.” it sounds cold, even to his own ears. why can’t he just ever express concern like a normal human being? can he still be considered a complete person, if he never seems to feel anything down to his core?

taemin calms down relatively fast, and is back to smiling and light-hearted chatter before the water has fully cooled. it’s a quality kibum appreciates in him, even though tonight it finally has him wondering about the things taemin is covering up by acting like this.

“woah… i must’ve done a little too much speed last night, i haven’t crashed like this since krystal got us that _huge_ bag of meow on new year’s eve… do you remember?” he laughs, talking too fast, his eyes big in his emaciated face. “that was the wildest party i’ve ever been to, we had so much fun. remember?”

kibum never goes to parties on new year’s eve – afraid of making memories that might get in the way of the ones he already has – but he nods, because when it comes down to it, it barely matters if he was really there or not. all of taemin’s parties are the same: get fucked up, talk about how fucked up you got.

“i remember.”

“do you think she can get us more? i could really use something. not speed, i’ve been doing too much of that lately… i want some of the stuff minho has. he has _amazing_ product.”

“who is minho?” he’s making conversation, focusing on lifting taemin out of the water and drying him off. in the dampness of the bathroom he can smell his own unwashed body very clearly; the next person in that tub should be him. taemin doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his story.

“he’s a great guy, he’s a customer. i first met him when we, when was that, when i sucked you off for my show. remember?”

kibum finds a dry towel to wrap taemin in, nodding absent-mindedly. it’s an automatic response. taemin always needed a lot of confirmation recounting past events, probably because of his perpetually blurry memory. kibum could have told him it was pointless to rely on him; his mind tended to be equally, if not more blurry than taemin’s.

“he said he’d never seen someone suck cock like that before, and of course i called him on his bullshit, but he thought that was funny. he admitted he likes guys with a lot of moxie. anyways, he asked if i was going to do more shows with other people, and if i’d ever considered including a fan.”

“sounds kinda sketchy.” he deposits taemin on his favourite couch, the divan, and helps him tuck his feet underneath the towel.

“yeah yeah, i thought so too at first. but i had him come over for a party first, and he’s really cool. you’ll see when you meet him. i think you’ll like him.”

“i’m not planning on staying long. is it okay if i take a bath?”

taemin slumps at his words, but doesn’t voice what kibum can see in his eyes.

“yeah. go crazy in there.” kibum hates it when taemin sounds defeated. he prefers it when they’re both pretending.

the water turns an embarrassing shade of light grey, and kibum squirts in more shower gel to counteract it. then he spends a few minutes feeling bad about almost emptying the bottle, and coming up with plans to replace it. taemin joins him after a while, sitting on the edge of the tub with his legs crossed, another cigarette placed daintily in between the tips of his fingers. he’s wearing a hoodie and loose-fitting training slacks.

“i hope you don’t mind? i was getting kinda bored out there.”

kibum pauses, very briefly, over how revealing the question is. he had just bathed taemin, they’d slept together countless times, but taemin still felt that it was necessary to ask for permission to be in the room. not because kibum was naked, but because he could sense kibum felt vulnerable. kibum doesn’t know if he minds. maybe. he’s already thinking about the moment when he’ll have to drain the tub and a thin layer of scum will be left behind, and how he’ll have to clean it with taemin watching.

taemin isn’t really watching him though. he’s looking around the room, picking up half-empty bottles of body wash and shampoo and commenting on the ingredients he can’t pronounce. it’s mindless chatter. he always became like this when he’d been hopped up on speed for too many consecutive days: talkative, restless.

“all these weird benzo things can’t be good for us… the skin is our biggest organ, you know? it sucks up everything that comes into contact with it, like a sponge. it’s easy to see, like if you put some body cream on a regular surface, and some on your skin; the stuff on your skin disappears, while the stuff you put on the edge of the tub, or whatever, keeps sitting there. it doesn’t just evaporate, you know? you absorb it. so the body cream seeps into your body… and then what? i always wonder about that.” he’s tapping his ashes into the bathtub in between observations, and it makes kibum feel a little better. what did it matter if taemin saw his bath scum? he’d seen worse. he was the one that got kibum off the streets, after jonghyun, after the h.

taemin loses interest in the shampoo bottles, wandering around the tiled space while continuing to talk over the silence. kibum watches him, dragging his fingers through the surface of the water whenever it grows too still.

“when are you getting out? i want to go to bed.”

kibum could point out that taemin could go to bed without him, but he feels too much guilt. where had that come from? taemin had always been the person he didn’t owe, no matter how much taemin gave; because it was given freely, because they were friends.

he stands up and rinses himself and then the tub, holding out his hand to taemin for balance. taemin smiles up at him, leaving his cigarette balanced on the edge of the sink so he has both hands free to support kibum, helping him step down onto the slippery floor. he presses closer, resting his chin on kibum’s shoulder while holding him, as if attempting to function as kibum’s towel. it makes sense, because none of the ones left in the bathroom are dry enough to use.

“can i use your towel?”

“just get into bed with me. i washed the sheets.”

“i don’t like getting into bed all damp. did you leave it on the couch? i’ll get it.” kibum is making excuses. taemin picks up on them, but doesn’t call him out.

“i’ll get it.” taemin gets up on his toes and kisses him on the temple, and leads him into the living room, installing him on one of his many couches. the cigarette sits safe in his hand, and he flicks its ashes into an ashtray as he passes it by, weaving his way around obstacles (furniture and empty bottles of coke) with a wasted kind of elegance. kibum is openly staring now, but it’s okay, because taemin is oblivious; he tends to become more caught up in himself after a bout of heavy usage, for a short while at least, as if the habit of being inside his own head so much needs a little time to wear off.

taemin picks up the towel, and a small tray, which he fills up with tobacco, rolling papers, filters and weed as he weaves his way back to kibum. the cigarette goes back in between his lips, and the towel is used to cover kibum’s nudity. kibum kind of feels the way he did when they ate those mushrooms, when he saw patterns and a choreographed kind of meaningfulness in every little occurrence. it’s the cigarette, he thinks. it keeps appearing and disappearing, moving from here to there, with no real thoughts spent on it. is taemin even aware he’s smoking it?

“how is krystal?”

“hm?” taemin takes up the seat next to him, the tray unsteadily balanced on one of his knees as he sits back and spreads his legs, taking up the task of rolling more cigarettes. kibum takes the tray and rests it in his own lap, tapping the nail of his thumb against the edge.

“the one that gave us the shrooms, and the meow. long, straight hair.”

“oh yeah, her.” it’s clear taemin has trouble recalling the correct person, even though he was just talking about her, and it satisfies kibum in a petty way. she had judged him, voicelessly communicated what a bad influence she considered kibum, but look how much she mattered in the end. “her parents put her into rehab. it’s a funny story, really. anyways, i haven’t seen her in weeks… most of her crew hasn’t been coming round much… i’m glad, you know? she would bring all these people round… and i like company, but there were too many strangers. one time, one came up to me and asked me who lived here.” taemin laughs, humourlessly. not like he doesn’t think it’s a funny anecdote, but like he’s told the story before and is rechewing the emotions. the whole monologue is making kibum a little uncomfortable, because he can hear the words behind the words. taemin is lonely. he feels guilty for being glad krystal hasn’t been coming round much.

“how long is she in rehab for?”

taemin grins, waving a hand and spilling tobacco in kibum’s lap. “no, hold on, check this out. guess _what_ she’s in for.”

“i haven’t got a clue.” he can tell by taemin’s tone of voice that it’s something unusual, bordering on lame.

“she’s convinced she’s being followed. she thought she was being spied on and it got her feeling so crazy she had to be committed. funny, right?”

“that is funny.” he smiles stiffly, ignoring the little voice in his head calling him a hypocrite. even though he’s not paranoid, he knows fear, and the things it can make a person do.

later that evening, he finds himself on jinki’s doorstep.

\--

_2011, june. summer._

he finds out by accident, and somehow it makes the whole incident feel even more shameful. he’s lying in jonghyun’s bed, waiting for his turn in the shower, when his phone buzzes. when he goes to grab the thing out of his back pocket, hanging over the side of the mattress because he doesn’t want to get up yet, it slips from his fingers and slides underneath the bed.

he leans over the side further, grabbing blindly, when his hands come into contact with something soft. a nice, expensive, striped sweater appears when he pulls his hand back, and he’s confused. when did jonghyun buy this? kibum knows every piece of clothing he owns, because he helped buy most of jonghyun’s wardrobe. it had always been their thing. this must be new. he finds his phone next, grinning when he sees it’s a text from taemin.

_u coming out 2night? nt taking no fr an answr!!_

__he’s in the middle of a reply when jonghyun comes out of the bathroom and kibum swings back upright, holding both his phone and the sweater, his face red from hanging upside down. they exchange a smile. then jonghyun spots the sweater, and the smile falls from his face like a light being turned off.

alarm bells start sounding in the back of kibum’s mind, but he tries to power through. his tone is a little too perky when he speaks up. “you bought a new sweater?”

“kibum…”

“i would have never pegged you as someone who would buy from this brand, you know? it’s so fancy.”

“kibum. we can’t keep doing this anymore.”

kibum laughs, and the sound is shrill and terrible. he retracts further into himself. all this time, he’d kept telling himself jonghyun just needed some time, that he would come around, that things could go back to how they were before. but all this time...

“this isn’t yours, is it?” he asks. he still sounds shrill, and accusatory now. the sweater has become gross to hold, and yet he can’t let go of it.

jonghyun sighs in annoyance, like he’d been anticipating this exact reaction and he just wants to get it over with. “no. it’s not mine.”

it’s overwhelming how much pain he feels; he thought he’d felt the most of it when jonghyun had dumped him, but even then, he’d had something left to cling to. hope. he looks down at the sweater in his hands, suppressing the urge to shred it. when his vision turns blurry and tears start slipping, he puts it to the side, not wanting to mess it up and maybe upset the owner. even now, he can’t bear the thought of hurting jonghyun.

“whose is it? who is he?”

“what does it matter?”

he breathes in, out. ten times. twenty times. until he can swallow his tears and speak with a steady voice. it feels like dying. he softly touches the edge of the sweater, and it feels unreal how composed he sounds.

“i’ve loved you, so much… you used to love me.”

jonghyun nods, but doesn’t look him in the eye anymore. “i know.”

\--

_2013, june. summer._

he’s disoriented, and crying. someone is gripping his arm, and it hurts, it hurts, _everything_ hurts. he just needs a fix, he needs a fix, that’s all he needs, everything will be okay again as long as he can get–

“shhh, shhh, it’s okay. i know,” a voice whispers, soothingly. he tries to see where the voice is coming from, but the lights are too bright for him to fully open his eyes. a figure is hanging over him. the floor is hard, and burning hot. everything is burning hot.

“get in the tub, kibum. get in the tub.” the voice sounds tired underneath the soothing, like it’s been pushed too far, like it’s been at this for hours. kibum doesn’t know how long he’s been here, he’s lost all sense of time. his tears burn on his skin – _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts_ – and he fights being lifted into the bathtub. he just wants to not be touched anymore.

“please,” he rasps, “don’t touch… don’t touch…”

“i’m sorry bummie. just get in the tub, it’s cool, it will feel nice on your skin… it will make clean up easier. you’re dirty, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? you’ll feel so much better.”

he realizes he’s been throwing up, the taste acrid on his tongue. “s-sorry…”

“it’s okay. i’m here. is the light hurting your eyes?”

a few seconds later the lights are turned off, and his eyes slowly adjusts. the room is dark, but he recognizes it nonetheless, and with it the figure in it. speaking is difficult, because his mouth is dry and he can’t get his jaw to stop clenching, but he manages.

“t-taeminnie… y-you… how did you find me?”

taemin has settled on the edge of the tub. “how do people find people? i asked around.”

“fix… i need a f-f-fix…”

taemin stands up, his face contorted with compassion. “i know, and we’ll get you one. but first we have to get you in this tub, okay? can you manage?”

they do it together. each movement is murder, and he loses himself in another crying fit when his body smacks into the edge of the tub, but in the end they manage.

it takes taemin over two days to scrounge up a fix, fifty endless hours, and kibum spends most of them shivering and crying, sometimes screaming. he drinks straight from the tap when he can’t stand the thirst anymore, but his body can’t keep it in.

it turns out to be a lie. “i’m sorry bummie,” taemin whispers, handing him the fake fix, “i had to.” they’re tiny orange pills, useless looking little things, but taemin says the drug’s name like it’s beautiful. suboxone. “this will help you get clean… put it underneath your tongue, let it dissolve. the pain is going to go away, you’ll see.”

he lets the pill sit in his mouth. it takes a long time to disintegrate, because he’s not producing enough saliva to facilitate the process. he wishes he could stand, so he could bash taemin’s head against the wall.

“w-where is my fix?”

taemin crouches, his hands resting over the edge of the tub. his fingernails are smooth and round and pink. “this _is_ your fix, it’s gonna fix you, it’s gonna make you normal again. getting clean is going to be so much easier when you feel normal, don’t you think so? don’t you think so, bummie?” maybe kibum could have believed, if taemin didn’t look so unsure. he looks like he bought the things off of someone on the street, like he doesn’t really know what he’s talking about.

“this shit isn’t working, i n-need my fix–”

“but–”

“I NEED MY FIX,” kibum shrieks, lifting himself out of the tub to grab at taemin. taemin falls back, shocked, scooting out of reach until he’s sitting pressed up against the wall.

“you have to give it some time, at least an hour! three every twenty minutes, that’s what the guy said.”

“i don’t _care_ what _some guy_ said, you dumb slut,” kibum hisses at him, feeling hatred towards taemin like he’s never felt before, for lying, for forcing him to scream, and causing him to be in even more pain. taemin takes a deep breath when he’s insulted, a look of determination coming over him.

“you can say whatever you like, it’s the pills or nothing.”

kibum spends another few minutes trying to escape and flinging insults, but he has to give up, because his body isn’t cooperating. his skin is burning, everything is burning. he looks over at taemin, and it’s the first time he’s been able to clearly observe him since he arrived. it’s clearly been a while since they last hung out, taemin not as babyfaced as he remembers him.

he lets his tone become weak, in an attempt to evoke sympathy. he’d cry, if his body had enough fluid left to produce tears. “an hour, right? j-just an hour? after that… if it doesn’t w-work… you’ll get me a fix, right? please… promise me.”

taemin nods, eyes filling with pity. “i promise.”

after an hour of being fed the little pills, the pain does stop. completely. kibum sits up in the bathtub, eyes wide. he’s covered in his own vomit, but he doesn’t care; the nauseating agony that had been searing through his spine, his muscles, his skin, is gone. like magic.

“did it work?” taemin asks, eyes wide and apprehensive.

it takes kibum a couple of tries to speak, like his voice is no longer in the same place and he has to figure out which strings to pull, exactly.

“yes,” he whispers.

taemin laughs incredulously, and ends up being the one that cries. he keeps it up all through the clean up, and calls them happy tears.

\--

_2014, august. summer._

kibum still has the keys to taemin’s apartment. he’s had them for years, but rarely uses them. taemin has told him on several occasions to treat his home like his own home, but it’s hard on him, and he’s considered giving them back many times.

he lets himself in and calls out, the way he always used to do when he came round regularly, alerting taemin to his presence. there’s no reply, but the lights in the living room are on so he drops his backpack near the entrance and walks in.

in the living room is a man, seated on one of the many burgundy couches, smoking a cigarette. kibum has met countless strangers in taemin’s apartment, and yet this is not like those times. the guy is alone, for one, and doesn’t give off the vibe of someone visiting.

“… hi?”

“hi,” the stranger replies, bending forward to extinguish his cigarette in the ash tray sitting in front of him. “taemin will be out in a second. he’s cleaning up.”

“oh.” he’s still standing in the same spot. the stranger is treating him casually, but it’s only making him feel more stiff.

“i’m minho.”

minho. it sounds familiar. a drug friend? “oh. right.”

“you can sit down if you’d like. ample room.”

“that’s okay, i just came by to drop something off… i’ll just… is taemin in his room?”

minho nods, his eyes still fixed on kibum’s face. he reminds kibum of a panther, how completely at ease he looks, as if he’s in his own territory. kibum waits for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.

“well… okay. bye then.”

when he walks down the hallway, all the way to the back of the apartment where taemin’s room sits, he realizes he’s rushing to get there. he slows down right in front of the door. it’s ajar.

inside taemin is lying on his bed, asleep, his oval face completely relaxed. he’s naked, an arm slung around his laptop. kibum sits down on the edge of the bed and carefully extracts the computer, placing it in his lap to turn it off.

on the screen a chat is taking place, and he recognizes it as one of the chat rooms of the website taemin works for. it’s not very busy anymore, the video half of the screen dark, but when he scrolls up he sees loads and loads of messages, the timestamps identical for big chunks of texts.

_[10:53 PM] anon1178: so hot_

_[10:53 PM] bigdickd: fuck him harder_

_[10:53 PM] wethole4u: Breed that little bitch._

_[10:54 PM] daddy84: i’d let him ride mine any day fukkk this shit is so hot_

__he stops reading after a few minutes, closing the window and then shutting off the computer. taemin stirs in his sleep when the whirring stops, but doesn’t wake up. kibum grabs the blanket, which lies crumpled at the foot of the bed, and uses it to cover him.

he leaves quietly, dropping the keys into the mailbox on his way out.

\--

_2014, september. fall._

sleeping with jinki is difficult, every time. kibum feels like running away a lot, but jinki is kind, and patient, and kibum doesn’t want to let him down.

settling in with jinki, on the other hand, turns out to be as easy as cutting butter. it’s almost as if he already had a space in his life reserved just for kibum, and all he had to do was show up and claim it. without prompting, he organizes his schedule to maximize the time they can spend together, and without being asked, he cooks for them, every evening.

_this is what a jar of spices must feel like, placed neatly in its rack._

__the food isn’t always good, but kibum eats all of it; he’s never had someone so dedicated to feeding him before, and it makes him feel strange. in a good way.

jinki lets him use his phone, and he texts taemin often. taemin seems to be in good spirits, albeit curious about kibum’s whereabouts, but he doesn’t ask outright, and the question remains suspended between them.

_yr not back on H, right? u can tell me if u r_

_no, never. you saved me, i’d never throw your gift away_

__he deletes both messages after sending his reply, not keen on including jinki on his heroin past so soon (but it was true, taemin had saved him. he’d been a human wreck by the time those little orange pills came along).

_wasnt me, th epills did all the wrk_

_half! you got them for me!_

_hehe. r u coming out tonight? minho told me abou tthis new place_

_not in the mood. mb nxt time_

_k! ^-^_

__he spends several seconds staring at the little emoticon in taemin’s last message, wondering what expression the other had truly been carrying as he typed up his response. what he’d been feeling...

(kibum hopes he doesn’t care. he hopes minho is keeping him busy.)

“–and after that, maybe we could catch a movie?”

he looks up, blinking. “what?”

jinki is in the kitchen, drying the dishes. “i was saying, maybe we could go out tonight? we’re always staying in, maybe you’d like to go somewhere? one of my classmates is celebrating her birthday tonight, i was thinking we could join her.”

kibum wants to refuse, still not used to this new (or maybe old) way of living. he didn’t realize how much he’d grown used to living in on the streets until he stopped doing it. when he was still outside, every hour had felt full. he’d always been thinking up plans where to get his next meal, where to spend the next evening, where to go, where to beg. but now that it was all behind him, it was beginning to feel like a very empty period in his life.

maybe because there had been no obligation to speak to anyone. really, there had been no obligations at all. although some days he’d been very active, walking around from the moment he woke up until the moment he went back to sleep, there had also been days where he would lie down in a spot somewhere, hidden from view, and do nothing. he couldn’t even call it waiting, because there was nothing lined up. he’d look up at the sky, until his eyes no longer felt like they were connected to him, until his skin no longer felt like a barrier between him and the world, and the sky felt like it could fall into him any second now, through his face, into his self. he pictured his soul merging with the universe. and there had been no reason to get up again, no real reason. if he had wanted to, he could have kept lying there forever.

jinki sits down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. kibum glances at him, drawing up his knees to his chest so he has something to hold onto.

“so, what do you say?” there’s enthusiasm in jinki’s face, a little too much, like he’s overcorrecting. kibum realizes it’s because of him.

“okay,” he says, forcing the neutral expression off his face with a small smile, because he wants to be the person that’s being smiled at. jinki squeezes his shoulder.

_i’m proud of you_ , is what that little squeeze says.

\--

the bar the birthday party is being held at is exceedingly stylish, as are jinki’s friends. the interior is inspired by a sixties ice cream parlour, every piece of furniture featuring chrome and glossy red leather. kibum is wearing an outfit jinki has lent him, a teal blazer paired with black jeans, and although he adores the clothes he can’t shake feeling ill at ease. in his hearts of hearts he feels like an impostor, and he catches himself glancing at the bartenders more than once, waiting for them to notice the unwanted presence amongst their clientele.

“what’s wrong?” jinki asks, for the third time that evening, leaning closer and putting a reassuring hand on kibum’s thigh. it takes a lot out of kibum not to flinch.

“nothing… this place is very nice.”

“isn’t it?” the birthday girl chimes in, her many bracelets making soft clinking sounds whenever she moves her arms. “your boyfriend is sooo interesting, jinki! jinki here told us all about how you used to be a squatter, and i could just never be like, that free, you know?”

kibum frowns (he wants to tell this girl the truth, that not having a home isn't a brave or glamorous thing, that it's counting change and assessing if you should eat today or tomorrow, that it’s barely having enough to buy one single thing in the supermarket, that it's being shunned and cold and tired and on your guard all the time, that it's shit and completely terrifying. but he doesn’t say anything).

jinki smiles at him, a little lopsided. he’s drunk; it’s a charming look on him. “here, have you tried this one yet?” he asks, holding out his glass. the rim is decorated with pink sugar and a pickled cherry, and it’s filled to the brim with a fiery red liquid. kibum recognizes it as the house cocktail. “it tastes _exactly_ like those little red candies they sell at the market... you know the ones, the round ones?”

kibum leans in, pinching the straw between his fingers. he sips, watching the liquid go up through the little tube until it reaches his mouth. jinki laughs and says it’s cute when he’s crossing his eyes like that.

he sucks until his cheeks are full, allowing the liquid to sit in his mouth for a while before swallowing. he misses drinking.

“what d’you think?” jinki asks, eager and yet unfocused, in that way only drunk people can pull off.

“it really does taste like...” he lets go of the straw, his jaw going slack. “… like candy…”

“ _right_? thas what i’ve been saying, but they won’t believe me,” jinki chimes in, turning around to remake his case with his friends. kibum is no longer focused on the conversation, staring at the two people that just walked into the bar.

minho. and jonghyun.

they walk past the tables, instead going towards the stools lined up along the length of the bar. minho takes a seat, his posture relaxed, but jonghyun keeps standing, giving off the impression of someone who isn’t staying long. they’re in work clothes.

_colleagues?_

__he stares at jonghyun’s profile. his hair is styled differently, still black, but shorter at the temples. it suits him.

kibum is still in the process of absorbing every current detail of jonghyun’s appearance when the other goes in to hug minho, patting him on the back and turning to leave. it fills kibum with a panicked sense of urgency – _wait!_ – and he almost gets up from his seat, but he remains perfectly still, digging his nails into his thighs as he watches jonghyun shrug on his coat and walk out onto the street, moving past the front window before disappearing out of sight.

he looks back at minho. minho is still sitting at the bar, hunched forward, checking his phone. jinki places his hand on kibum’s thigh underneath the table, and kibum unconsciously takes it and gives it a little squeeze.

“hey, honey?” jinki says, the words coming out a little woolly because of all the drink, and kibum is pulled back into the bubble of his table. “i’m sorry but i don’t feel so good… drank too mush, maybe… is it okay if we go home?” he does indeed look a little washed-out, but his voice is cute and sleepy-sounding. he’s sloshed, but not ill.

it slowly clicks for kibum that this is the first time he’s ever been called honey by jinki. “is it okay if i stay a little longer? i’m having a good time.”

jinki sits more upright, as much as he’s able to in his state. it’s clear he’s overjoyed. “ _really?_ no, no, of course you shud stay, of course! i can get home… not a plobrem. just put me in a cab, and i’ll be fine.”

it takes jinki nearly half an hour to say goodbye to all his friends, because he keeps getting pulled back into their animated conversations, and in that time taemin shows up. maybe it’s because kibum isn’t used to seeing him outside of his ill-lit apartment, but he looks ghostly, his cheeks hollow and his collar bones sticking out of the top of his shirt.

he remembers the first time he’d showered in jinki’s bathroom and had stood in front of his mirror afterwards (taemin didn’t have a mirror in his bathroom, only the little fixtures that showed where there had once been one), and how the face that looked back at him had shocked him: the cheekbones had been way too prominent, and dark circles lined the eyes, giving his face the appearance of a skull. he’d then stepped back and studied the rest of his body, every visible bone, his sickly looking skin. it wasn’t like he’d never seen himself in shop windows and cars during his time outside, but his slight near-sightedness had kept the worst hidden from him.

and now he was seeing himself reflected in taemin, in the worst way. it reminds him of happier times, of a series of nights spent by taemin’s side, appearing in his mind like a collection of snapshots, strung together and stretching back: the months he’d spent with taemin, until his heroin habit became too severe for them to live together. he’d been high for most of it and so it seemed like very little time to him now, but as he watches taemin walk towards minho, his eyes and smile equally hazy in his bony face, he’s doing the math.

he’s missing a year. an entire year.

(the person he didn’t owe, no matter how much he gave. because it was given freely. because they were friends.)

taemin sits down at the bar next to minho, who puts an arm around his shoulder. a familiar pain settles in kibum’s chest, one he thought strictly reserved for jonghyun.

he turns towards jinki, who appears to have forgotten all about his plans to leave, fully absorbed in a conversation with the birthday girl. they’re discussing a photography class they took together. kibum tugs at his sleeve, and his voice is fragmented when he speaks.

“i’d like to go home now, please.”

jinki looks at him, dazedly, the whites of his eyes carrying a hint of pink. it’s clear the exhaustion is catching up with him, and kibum notices the cup of coffee sitting in between jinki’s hands. he doesn’t even recall it being brought to the table, and it makes him feel like he’s spent the last half hour outside of time.

jinki nods, studying his face. there’s concern in his eyes. “ i thought you were having fun?”

“i was, but i’m getting a little tired. you don’t mind, do you?”

he just wants to leave (now now now) before taemin looks round for some reason and notices him.

“no, of course not.” jinki really does look ready to go home, and kibum realizes he’s been staying on his account. “let’s go home.”

when they get back to jinki’s place he digs up his old backpack and throws it out, along with the collection of weathered beads at the bottom of it.

\--

_2012, january – november. winter._ _  
spring.  
summer.  
fall._

taemin, next to him on the couch, being very loud and very unfunny.

taemin, talking through a shitty movie while eating take out, a little gross and annoying.

taemin, lying underneath him, lifting his head to kiss him (eager and beautiful).

taemin, clicking his tongue when kibum leans over his first line of heroin, judgemental and even more annoying.

\--

_2014, december. winter._

he’s looking over at jinki’s profile, studying the concentrated expression on his boyfriend’s face as he watches a football match. there’s something he’s been working up the courage to tell him. maybe today will be the day.

jinki catches him looking, and turns his head to smile at him. then he gets this look on his face that he always gets when he’s about to say something, like he’s going over the words one last time before speaking.

“hey honey, i’ve been thinking…”

kibum nods to show he’s listening.

“i know we haven’t been going out for that long, not officially at least... but you’ve been living here for a couple months now, and my mom noticed she hasn’t been invited to visit recently… and maybe i kind of sort of told her about us?”

_oh._

jinki waits for a couple of seconds, and when kibum makes no reply he grows more nervous. “so yeah, she invited us for dinner to celebrate the new year. and i said yes.”

kibum bites his lip. “jinki…”

he’s hastily interrupted. “too soon? i can call it off, you know. it would be no problem, no problem at all.”

“i’m…”

jinki gives him a look, one brimming with hope, and at last kibum understands how jonghyun had felt towards the end of their relationship. because kibum has been trying, honestly trying, but he can no longer get around the simple truth: he doesn’t want jinki. it had been this relationship’s biggest selling point initially – because he felt safe and comforted, being loved by someone he didn’t love – but he’d still very much hoped the fondness on his part would grow over time.

and on some level jinki had picked up on that, and it had been making him extra attentive, extra kind, extra sweet, in a futile attempt to buy kibum’s love, a last-ditch effort to convince him into staying. and kibum had allowed it to happen, because deep down, he wanted to be convinced.

“i’m just really tired. can we talk about this tomorrow?”

jinki looks unhappy, but he gives in. like always. “of course.” then he leans in for a kiss, and kibum pecks his lips, if only because he feels not doing it would lead to a teary-eyed fight.

once he’s safely in the bedroom he takes his cell phone from his jeans (a gift from jinki for christmas) and dials a number he’s never saved but knows by heart. he’s been avoiding taemin completely ever since he saw him in the bar with minho – pushed him to the back of his mind and kept him there – but now he’s overcome with the urge to hear his voice, even if it’s only briefly.

_the number you’re calling is not in service. please hang up. the number you’re calling is no–_

__he looks at the little screen of his cell phone, feeling rattled. taemin has had this number since forever, as long as their friendship has lasted. why would it be disconnected?

jinki’s laptop is sitting on his nightstand, and he fires it up, surfing to taemin’s profile on his camming website. he can’t access the content since he’s not a paying member, but the site does tell him the last time a clip was uploaded: the 6th of october.

which means taemin hasn’t worked his job in over two months. it doesn’t add up, because taemin adores his job, and would film himself for it at least twice a week when kibum was still coming round.

he stares at the screen, trying not to allow the creeping panic in his gut to consume him. he checks taemin’s various other social platforms next, but his friend has never been a very online kind of person outside of work, and predictably, none of the others show any sign of life either.

he pockets his phone and goes through the drawer in his own bedstand, the one that stores the majority of his belongings. he’s frantically looking for the keys to taemin’s apartment, belatedly remembering he no longer has them.

“fuck,” he mutters angrily, throwing the drawer shut.

“are you okay?” jinki asks from the doorway. kibum hadn’t heard him coming in, and his sudden appearance startles him.

“yeah, i’m fine! i just need to go somewhere.” he’s sounding and acting like he’s guilty of something, and he knows he can’t leave things like this, should take the time to talk it through, but he’s having trouble thinking straight.

“go where? it’s the middle of the night.”

“just somewhere.” kibum starts squeezing past him. “i’ll be back soon, promise.”

he’s stopped when jinki grabs his arm, squeezing hard enough to keep him in place. it hurts. “go _where_? why can’t you just tell me where you’re going?”

“you’re hurting me…” kibum grits out, trying to pull free. it encourages jinki to grip him tighter, jealousy twisting his features.

“i’ve done everything, everything i could think of… but it’s still not enough, is it? who are you going to see? who is it?”

“it’s not like that…” kibum struggling becomes frantic, the panic finally getting to him (trapped, he’s trapped!).

“nothing ever affects you, does it?”

“let go, jinki! LET ME GO!”

jinki loosens his grip when kibum screams right into his face, taken aback. he takes a stumbling step backwards and kibum seizes the opportunity to push past him and walks into the living room. he’s jittery now, emotions on full blast, his hands shaking as he collects his coat (jonghyun’s coat, jinki kept it for him, he should’ve thrown it away a long time ago) and puts on his shoes.

his boyfriend is following him around, voice soft and plaintive: “kibummie, please… i didn’t mean it like that. i’m sorry. please don’t go.”

when kibum doesn’t respond he starts crying, quietly, but it makes kibum feel like shit all the same. he wants to make it better, but he knows he can’t, because jinki isn’t crying because they fought, he’s crying because they’re not on the same level. it hangs heavy between them, unspoken.

“jinki,” he whispers, trying to suppress his own fear and desire to flee long enough to at least offer some words of comfort. “jinki, look at me.”

when jinki refuses to look up (he’d never liked showing his crying face), kibum gives up and leaves.

\--

he’s staring at taemin’s doorbell, his heart feeling smaller than ever. taemin’s name is no longer on it; the little card in the plastic holder now says ‘ _jung soojung_ ’.

he’s been running for years, and finally he’s managed to sever his final link. why had he not anticipated how shitty it would feel?

“kibum?”

he looks up, blinking when he sees krystal. she’s carrying a load of groceries, and she looks tired but cheerful. “you’re the last person i expected to see here, taemin told me you hadn’t been coming round in weeks.”

“where is he?”

“not too sure, he got in with a guy and has some kind of weird living arrangement with him now. but i know all the places he hangs out at.”

kibum nods, clinging to the bit of hope krystal is offering him.

“why don’t you come up and i’ll write down some directions for you. you can help me carry these groceries while you’re at it.”

“up?”

“yeah, i live here now.”

he speaks before it clicks. “but that’s not your name on the– ohh.”

it’s the first time he’s ever seen krystal flushing.

\--

one of the places taemin hangs out at frequently is a bar not far from his old apartment, so kibum tries his luck there first. he asks the barman, who informs him taemin isn’t in tonight, but his ‘keeper’ is.

“huh?”

the bartender gives him another once-over, a leery smile on his face. “you know. he’s in the back, you can walk right through.”

kibum feels uncertain walking through the back room, which is filled with small tables and people who look like they belong, until he spots minho. he’s sitting at the far end, playing cards with two other men. kibum takes a deep breath and tells himself he doesn’t care, and to approach with confidence.

“minho?”

minho looks up, appearing wary until he recognizes kibum. he nods, and waits for kibum to explain his purpose. the two men sitting at the table rest their hands face down, looking at him with equally expectant expressions.

“i’m looking for taemin.”

minho folds his cards towards the table to check his watch. “that works. take a seat, i’ll take you to him when i’ve finished my round.”

minho stays true to his word, playing his hand and paying out his losses directly afterwards, promising the men to be back. he gets up without another word and heads for the exit, only looking back once to make sure kibum is following.

“regular, aren’t you? i remember you, from before.” every word sounds like it’s been considered, and kibum can’t tell if it’s because minho feels that sure of himself, or that unsure, but he feels threatened all the same. minho walks the way he sits, with big, dominant strides, eating up pavement.

“yeah, we go back a while.”

“hm.”

the walk doesn’t take long, less than two minutes, and then minho is getting out keys and letting himself into an apartment block – it looks older than most of the buildings in the neighbourhood, but well-kept. minho calls down the elevator, and allows kibum to get on first. it’s suffocating sharing such a small space with him, mainly because of the silence he maintains, and kibum pulls his hands inside his sleeves so he can fidget out of sight.

when they reach taemin’s floor, kibum expects minho to get out his keys again, but instead he simply pushes open the door on the left.

taemin’s new apartment is, in a word, tiny. it’s closer to a studio, because the kitchen and bathroom are all adjacent to the living room and lack doors.

which is how kibum has no trouble spotting taemin, getting fucked on his kitchen table. his eyes are closed, his expression blissful, and if it weren’t for minho taking a step back and quietly shutting the door again kibum wouldn’t have been able to look away.

“sorry about that. i figured he’d be in the bedroom.”

kibum shakes his head, speaking on instinct, because he can’t think. “that’s okay.”

“you can have the next turn, just wait for the guy to come out. shouldn’t be too long.”

he nods, staring at the door. during the last half hour he’d begun to catch on that things were pointing towards something like this, but thinking it and seeing it were two different things. taemin just fucked strangers for money now? why? he made more than enough working his old job.

“i’m heading back, taemin will go over the rates with you. see you around.”

maybe it really doesn’t take that long, but after minho leaves, the seconds drag. he’s reminded of when he went cold turkey. the hallway is freezing, he can see the air he’s breathing out. he’s reminded of a party, months ago; taemin following him outside, pressing into him. he’d been warm and sticky to the touch. in retrospect, that had been the night he should have stayed, or even the next morning, when taemin’s room had felt like a fish bowl, dipped in ocean greens (he can still picture the way taemin’s hands looked, small and frail, holding onto nothing).

when taemin’s customer walks past him he takes a step back to make room, and then fights the urge to barge right in.

_give him some time to get dressed._

__as soon as he’s slowly counted to a hundred twice and is certain five minutes have passed, he opens the door. taemin is sitting cross-legged on his (strangely tiny) couch, wearing a long white t-shirt and rolling a cigarette.

he looks up, his mouth a surprised o, even though his posture remains relaxed. “could you give me a minute, i’m–”

the moment he hones in on the identity of his visitor he’s on his feet, and in three giants leaps he’s hanging from kibum’s neck, every word breathless in its happiness. “bummie! it’s you!”

kibum wraps his arms around him, reassured by what he feels. the gaunt-looking taemin from a couple months back is mostly gone, now sporting the appearance of someone who has been enjoying regular meals. “taemin,” he murmurs quietly, squeezing him a little tighter, absorbing the feeling of holding him in his arms again. he smells like sex, and sweat, but it doesn’t matter.

this time it’s kibum that refuses to let go, half-carrying, half-walking them to the couch, encouraging taemin to sit in his lap. he looks up at him when he’s seated, reaching out to put a lock of hair behind taemin’s ear. he’s stopped bleaching and trimming it, and it lies heavy against his temples.

taemin doesn’t speak, and kibum realizes it’s because he’s sober; he had never been a very talkative type when he wasn’t hopped up on something. but they don’t necessarily need words, because taemin is talking to him all the same, his eyes round and dark and expressive. kibum takes a deep breath.

“i’m sorry for leaving you.”

taemin smiles. “you, apologizing? that’s weird.”

kibum drops his gaze, looking at his thumbs pressing into taemin’s hips. he wants so badly to get it right this time, but he’s fast losing his grip on how to go about it. it’s making him feel lost.

“so… what’s with the new place?”

taemin pushes his hips further down, grinding into him. his movements are slow, but deliberate. “promise you won’t make fun of me.” he punctuates his sentence with a kiss, a relatively chaste one. kibum knows what taemin is really after; not sex, nor any kind of physical closeness. he’s reading kibum’s reactions, picking up on them like it’s nothing.

“i won’t.”

taemin regards him fondly, like he’d expected the reply, but is liking it all the same. “my other place, it had too many memories. i needed a fresh start; got rid of everything. minho helped me out. he’s the one that brought you here, right?”

kibum is reminded of something, a fact that would have been all-consuming to him not even a year ago. his eyebrows go up as he remembers. “about that, does minho know–”

taemin catches on before he finishes his sentence. “–jonghyun? yeah! i found out after you stopped coming round, they work in the same office. like, can you believe that shit? i mean, what are the fucking odds.”

kibum considers it for a while, using the time to pull one and then the other arm out of his jacket and drop the thing to the side. “maybe it’s not that big of a coincidence. you introduced me to your site, i introduced jonghyun to it...” he’s losing interest in the topic of jonghyun fast, caught up in tracing one of taemin’s thighs with his hand, his head tilting up towards taemin’s face. “did you give up camming? i checked your profile.”

taemin leans into him, encouraging the touches. his eyes have grown softer. “you were checking up on me?”

“yeah.”

another kiss, barely a brush of lips. taemin is murmuring into his mouth, not bothering to pull away anymore. “same reason, to tell you the truth… too many memories. hey, kibum?”

“yeah?”

“you’re not leaving me again, are you? not this time.” he sounds confident.

kibum shakes his head, grateful that taemin has spoonfed him the line. because for once, his heart is clear, and now he has the words to match.

“no. not this time.”

\--

_2014-2015, new year. winter._

he takes taemin to see all the graffiti he created after he left jonghyun, from his earliest, most rudimentary work, all the way up to the complex pieces he painted towards the end. they’re scattered across the city and so it takes up most of their evening to do the full tour, but it doesn’t matter, because they’re wrapped up in hideous couple coats and taemin’s hand is warm in his (he never officially threw out jonghyun’s coat, just simply stopped wearing it, and today while unpacking in their new apartment he realized he’d forgotten to take it with him).

they’re quiet mostly, letting touches and glances do the talking for them, except for when taemin comments on his work. he doesn’t like every piece, reasoning the figures depicted seem to be suffering, saying it makes him feel sad.

they’re standing in front of the final thing kibum made, the face in the tunnel, next to where jonghyun’s car once sat. in the distance, the muted explosions of fireworks that have been going off all evening are picking up speed, until they’re like a continuous drum. kibum knows painting this can’t have been more than a year ago, but it feels like something he did in another lifetime.

“is that how you felt back then?”

if anyone else had been asking, kibum would have resorted to his usual tactics: flippancy and outright lying. but he doesn’t need to lie to taemin, not anymore. taemin has seen all of him, and kibum has finally learned (or allowed himself to believe) that it’s okay.

he shrugs. “yeah. pretty much.”

the tunnel is cleaner than the last time he was here, like city council decided to fix the place up, and he suspects a fresh lick of paint will be erasing his work sooner rather than later. the idea is more appealing to him than he would have guessed.

“it’s so different from the things i see you sketching nowadays.”

“makes sense, i think. i’m not that person anymore.”

two thin arms are wrapped around him, squeezing him tightly, accompanied by one of taemin’s bright grins. kibum has come to adore that mouth, and he’s suppressing the urge to kiss it.

“no, you’re not,” taemin whispers, brimming with happiness, “you’re my person now.”


End file.
